


ten of us

by kinos



Category: Pentagon (Korea Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, fluff?, i love hyojong’s tattoos bye, ot10 - Freeform, tiiiiiiny bit of angst for like one second
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 14:31:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14286978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinos/pseuds/kinos
Summary: It’s ten of us. All of us. You know that.





	ten of us

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhhhh blame this on me being emo about hyojong saying that the ‘10’ tattoo is because there’s ten members of pentagon That’s All

Hwitaek is the first to see it, the wide patch on Hyojong’s hip showing just beneath the line where his shirt cuts off, the way he moves into their dorm slowly, carefully, telltale signs of a fresh tattoo job.

And when he asks, “New tattoo?” Hyojong almost looks surprised that it had caught Hwitaek’s eye, quickly nodding a yes before he moves to lie on the couch, instinctively stretching his legs out over the elder’s open lap.

Really, it shouldn’t be a surprise, not by now. Hwitaek’s shown time and again that Hyojong can’t hide anything from him, be it the designs that ink his skin or the thoughts that plague his mind when he’s lying awake on the floor of their living room at three in the morning. It shouldn’t be a surprise, not when Hwitaek comes to him on every one of those nights, sitting by his side, carding his fingers through his hair, singing sweet songs to him until those thoughts go away and Hyojong can finally find sleep. Hwitaek always just _knows_ him, every little thing about him, and Hyojong doesn’t know how he does it, but he likes it.

“What is it?” Hwitaek asks, his curiosity clear in the bright gleam in his eye, in the giddy tone of his voice. He likes being the first to know, always insisting that Hyojong removes the bandages in front of him, just so he can be the first to see, the first to admire whatever artwork it is that Hyojong’s decided to put on his body.

 _It looks good, Hyojongie,_ he would say, everytime, and every single time, he meant it.

Hyojong knows he would mean it this time too, knows that he might even say more once he knows what it is, what it means, but he can’t bring himself to answer him, feeling this odd wave of embarrassment wash over him, like he’s suddenly afraid of letting Hwitaek see it, of letting anyone see it.

“It- It’s nothing,” he coughs out, reaching to tug his shirt down, covering it, and he flashes the barest of smiles. “Just something silly.”

Hwitaek knows, he always knows. He knows that it isn’t nothing, but he also knows that he won’t get anything out of Hyojong now, that it would be no use trying to force it out of him, so he offers a smile of his own, pats the boy’s leg, and says, “Okay.”

 

Hwitaek is the first to see it, the thick black lines peeking out over the low rise of Hyojong’s sweatpants, the way the last two lines curve into each other, blending together, telltale signs of a number that they both know too well.

And when he asks, “It’s the number 10, isn’t it?” Hyojong really shouldn’t be so shocked that he had figured it out, this time ducking his head in a nod of admission, his hand already moving to hide the tattoo from his prying eyes.

But Hwitaek is quick to catch his wrist, his hold firm enough to stop Hyojong from covering it, but gentle enough not to hurt him in the slightest.

“Come on, I’ve already seen half of it,” Hwitaek reasons with him, his free hand already hovering over the waistband, but he knows better than to do anything more than that, waiting for Hyojong’s permission. “Just let me see it. You always let me see it.”

Hyojong fidgets under his gaze, like he isn’t sure what to do, like half of him just wants to show it to him, to get it over with, but the other half wants to keep it hidden away, to keep it to himself forever. But Hwitaek’s got that look in his eyes, so eager, so earnest, and Hyojong can’t find the heart to deny him.

So, he gives him a small nod, and he ignores the way a shudder betrays his body when Hwitaek’s nails drag against his skin as he tugs Hyojong’s pants down just enough to look at the whole tattoo properly, feeling a tick in his heart when the elder gasps.

“Is- Is it bad?” Hyojong asks, nervous, hesitant, worried what Hwitaek might think of it, wondering if Hwitaek can feel his shaky pulse from where his wrist is still laying limp in his closed fist.

“No, it looks good, Hyojongie,” Hwitaek says, like he always does, and if Hyojong didn’t know better, he’d say that Hwitaek almost gulped as he eyed the way the ink settled on the curve of Hyojong’s hip bone, the way it stretched when he shifted his body just a little, the way it looked so, so, so- “ _Good._ Really good.”

Hyojong knows that he means it, and he wonders if he’ll just leave it at that. He hopes he leaves it at that.

But unfortunately for him, this time, Hwitaek has a lot more to say, a thoughtful hum in the back of his throat as his finger traces the lines of the number, muttering to himself, “One. Zero. _Ten._ ” He looks up at Hyojong. “Ten of us?”

Hyojong wants to say no, already feels the tiny word roll out onto his tongue, but he can’t seem to spit it out. Because Hwitaek will know, he always knows. He’ll know that Hyojong is lying to him, know that he’ll just try to play it off as a random number, that it doesn’t mean anything.

He’ll know, so Hyojong has to say, “Yeah, ten of us.”

A smile pulls at Hwitaek’s lips, eyes crinkling up, and he looks touched, his hand coming up to press against his own chest. “That’s… really cute, Hyojongie.”

Hyojong tries to roll his eyes, tries to shrug it off, but Hwitaek’s fingertip is still ghosting over the tattoo like he’s teasing him, and it’s starting to make Hyojong squirm where he lays, barely able to keep himself still.

“It’s whatever,” he mutters, avoiding Hwitaek’s eyes, feeling that embarrassment creep up on him again, and Hwitaek seems to notice it, barking out a laugh as his other hand moves from his chest to Hyojong’s blushing cheeks, pinching him lightly.

“Aw, are you getting shy?” Hwitaek almost coos at him, as though he’s some kind of child. “Is that why you didn’t wanna tell me what it was?”

Hyojong clicks his tongue, but it comes out weak, and it doesn’t help much when he mumbles out a whiny, “Shut up. I know it’s cheesy.”

That makes Hwitaek laugh again, and he’s moved on to tapping his fingers on the soft space of Hyojong’s stomach, almost like he’s playing a pretty melody on his skin. Hyojong likes it.

“ _Please,_ you have matching couple tattoos with your mother,” Hwitaek counters, still chuckling to himself. “It can’t get any cheesier than that.”

And _okay,_ that’s true, but- “That’s my mom. She’s my family.”

“Aren’t we your family too?” is Hwitaek’s simple reply, and well, Hyojong supposes they are.

“ _Still,_ ” Hyojong presses, reaching for Hwitaek’s hand to tangle their fingers together, because as much as he likes it, if Hwitaek keeps poking at his tummy like that, he might just kiss him or something. “It’s just- It’s embarrassing, okay?”

As if Hwitaek knows he’s already on the brink of losing it, he leans down to press a small kiss to the inked number, just enough to make Hyojong shiver from the brief contact, the brush of warm lips against warmer skin, before he shuffles up to cuddle against his side, hooking his chin over Hyojong’s shoulder.

“Well, I think it’s sweet,” Hwitaek tells him, no room for argument, and again, Hyojong knows he means it. “The fact that you’d get it tattooed on your body forever. It must mean a lot to you, huh?”

Hyojong offers a half-hearted scoff, still absentmindedly toying with Hwitaek’s fingers to distract himself. “Of course it does,” he says, voice small, shy. “You mean the world to me. You know that.”

Hwitaek’s mouth curls into smirk at the sound of that, like he’s pleased to hear it, and though Hyojong can only see it out of the corner of his eye, it still makes his face flush.

“I- I mean, _you,_ all of you, everyone,” Hyojong quickly adds, throat growing tight. “Ten of us. Our group. Our family. This means everything to me.” He feels a dull pang in his chest when he remembers what they’d gone through, what _he’d_ gone through. “Can you imagine? What it’d be like if it wasn’t the ten of us? If it was just the seven of you like it was supposed to be?”

Hwitaek doesn’t seem fazed by the question, not an ounce of hesitation when he answers, “I can’t imagine, because it would never happen.”

“It _could’ve-_ ”

“But it wouldn’t.” Hwitaek sits up, so does Hyojong, and there’s a sudden heaviness in the air around them, the elder’s face serious now. “Did you really think I’d ever let them force us to debut as just seven? That we’d just leave the three of you behind? That I’d leave you behind?”

Hyojong gapes at him for a moment, maybe two, unsure what to say, because _yeah,_ of course he’d like to think that Hwitaek wouldn’t want to debut without them, without him, but it wasn’t really up to him, was it? He didn’t hold that kind of power, not back then.

“I wouldn’t have let it happen,” Hwitaek assures him, sounding so sure of himself that Hyojong finds it hard not to believe him. “Because the ten of us… That’s just it. It’s ten of us. All of us. You know that.”

Hyojong does know, he knows it too well. It was the one thing that kept him going, that kept them all going. The faith they had in each other, in all ten of them. But…

“So, what? You would’ve turned down the chance of debuting? You would’ve gone back to being a trainee? You would’ve waited with me for fuck knows how many more years until they decided that I was good enough? That I was worth it?”

He doesn’t know why he’s getting so upset, but the thought of Hwitaek giving up everything he’s worked for just for Hyojong’s sake… It’s _stupid._ He doesn’t believe it. He couldn’t.

“Yeah, I would,” Hwitaek starts, but-

“Okay, say you would,” Hyojong cuts in, because maybe, _maybe,_ Hwitaek would do that for him. Hyojong would do the same. “But what about the others? Would you sacrifice their dreams just because I couldn’t get mine?”

Hwitaek shakes his head, slow, like he doesn’t get how Hyojong doesn’t see it, doesn’t see what he sees. “I wouldn’t have to,” he says. “Because they understand it just as well as I do. They know that it’s ten of us. All of us.” Before Hyojong can even try to protest, he turns his head towards the door. “Ask them yourself.”

It’s only then that Hyojong notices them, the other boys, all eight of them somehow squeezing themselves into the tiny doorway of Hwitaek’s room, heads poking out under arms, familiar faces grinning at him.

“How long have you guys been standing there?” Hyojong asks, suddenly feeling awkward, wondering if they’d heard everything he said.

“The whole time,” Hongseok quips, snorting at him like the wonderful friend that he is. “Nice tat, by the way.”

Hyojong doesn’t even have a chance to ask why they’re being such nosy brats, even more than usual, because right then, Changgu pops out from behind Hongseok to say, “You were being so secretive about your tattoo this time, so we made a bet on what it was.”

 _Ah,_ of course they did.

“Most of them thought that you were hiding it because it turned out ugly,” Hyunggu explains, his small body wedged between Yuto and Yanan. “But I guessed that it’d be something sentimental…” He beams at Hyojong. “I knew it, hyung. You’re just a big softie.” He looks back at the others. “And you losers owe me five bucks each.”

There’s a chorus of groans, and Hyojong thinks he hears Shinwon flick the back of Hyunggu’s head, but he hardly registers it, too caught up in thinking about what Hwitaek had meant by that.

_They understand it just as well as I do. They know that it’s ten of us. All of us._

Do they really know? Do they really understand? Would they really have given up everything for the three of them that they didn’t quite make it? For Hyojong?

He gets his answer when he’s tackled back onto the bed, the boys fitting themselves around him and Hwitaek, wherever they can, however they can. Somehow, they could always fit, ten of them, all of them. They always found a way.

He gets his answer when he feels curious fingers poke and jab at his new tattoo, when he feels a fleeting kiss against it too, when he hears Hwitaek’s, “Hey, watch it,” and a cheeky giggle that sounds an awful lot like Wooseok.

He gets his answer when Jinho says, “You mean everything to us too, Hyojong,” when the rest of them agree without skipping a beat, when they huddle around him in a gigantic hug just to show that they mean it.

He gets his answer when he realises that Hwitaek was right after all. He can’t imagine it. Not for a second. He can’t imagine a world where it isn’t the ten of them, all of them. It just wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t.

 

Hwitaek was the first to see it, the unbreakable bond that was born between them, every single one of them, the way they all needed each other, no matter what, telltale signs of a family, of _their_ family. He was the first to see it, they all saw it, and Hyojong sees it now too.

_Ten of us. All of us._

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are very much appreciated! ♡
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ao3kino), [curious cat](https://curiouscat.me/ao3kino), [listography](https://listography.com/forkinos)


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